


Oculi Galactic

by chzo_mythos



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chzo_mythos/pseuds/chzo_mythos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little ficlet about Cecil's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oculi Galactic

**Author's Note:**

> My t'hy'la asked me to write Carlos/Cecil anything. So I did.

In Cecil's eyes, there were galaxies.

And—and not in the 'I got lost in his eyes" way—actual galaxies with actual stars and actual planets. Carlos had watched them move before, when Cecil had dragged him away from that tree in the park, the one with the ooze, on a walk. He hadn’t noticed it before, not even on their first date (though, to his credit, back then he was so nervous that he couldn’t even dream of looking Cecil in the eye), and he almost wouldn’t have, except while Cecil was waving his hands about, gesticulating wildly as he talked about the bloody sweater he’d found in the station—which, Carlos reminded himself, he’d need to bring up again, later—Cecil falls. Is tripped, actually, as a…dog(?) comes sprinting across the pathway, tiny little legs propelling it with enough force that when it knocks into Cecil’s leg, the man is taken down, though the dog keeps running like nothing happened. 

Carlos had leant down to help his boyfriend(?) up, reaching out to retrieve the purple-rimmed glasses that had fallen off, only to pause when he glanced at Cecil. All of his eyes were open, which was odd enough on its own (Carlos had only seen the third open when Cecil was angry, or about to come, and in the latter instance, it was only for a moment before it lazily closed back up as Cecil went through the aftershocks). But what had looked like normal eyes, for Night Vale anyway, were anything but. Before, Carlos had thought that Cecil’s eyes were black, or maybe even a dark blue. But now, looking at them properly, without a plastic frame interfering, he can see they aren’t either. 

They’re everything. Black skies with blue nebulas, red dwarves, brilliant supernovas and pitiful meteorites, and—is that a satellite? 

Carlos, with his brown eyes, blinks. 

Cecil smiles, teeth normal at the moment, and there’s a faint tinge of pink on the apples of his cheeks. 

“Why, Carlos. I didn’t know you were such an exhibitionist.”

Carlos stutters out an apology and all but pushed the frames back over Cecil’s face. The radio-host laughs lightly and takes the hand Carlos offers to heave himself up, the skin of his forehead mending itself at the same time. He brushes dust from his sweater vest, cheekily asks Carlos if there’s any on his backside, before linking their hands and continuing on about the sweater. Yellow, argyle, itchy, with blood caked on the collar and sleeves. Carlos is paying less attention than he should be. 

Later that night, Carlos suggests they go somewhere, somewhere quiet, as the house next to Cecil’s has been occupied by the sound of wind howling for the past few nights. Cecil agrees, damn-near swooning when Carlos puts an arm around his waists as he ushers him out. Station management should be asleep, Cecil tells him, to which Carlos responds with a nod and heads in the direction of the studio. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Carlos is a scientist, after all, so with relative ease, he gets Cecil up onto the roof, pulling himself up after. The radio tower isn’t pulsing like normal, and he can’t hear growling, which is always a good sign, so Carlos takes the opportunity to sit on the roof, pulling Cecil down next to him, their hands linked. Faintly, Carlos can feel Cecil’s tattoo’s wrapping around his fingers. It’d taken him a long time to learn not to shudder at that. 

Looking out over the desert, their view, this way at least, is rather bland. Especially compared to that storm last week. But there’s something nice in this, the normal looking sand, the normal looking, if slightly ominous, sky. Cecil rests his head on Carlos’s shoulder. 

“You have great ideas” he murmurs, craning his neck slightly. Carlos does the same, and in the distance, he can see the lights that have caught Cecil’s attention. They’re not like the spotlights from the helicopters, or the lights that fly overhead and deposit gardener snakes in the alley behind Big Rico’s that everyone pretends not to notice. No, these lights are different. If Carlos had to compare them to anything, he’d say the aurora borealis and/or australis. They flicker and throb on the horizon, violent streaks of citrine and mauve and saffron and vermillion. 

And it’s beautiful. The most beautiful thing he’s seen in the sky of Night Vale since he’s been here. 

“Does this happen a lot?” He asks after a time, only when the lights start to fade. Cecil shrugs a little. 

“Only on Mondays.”

It’s Thursday, Carlos thinks. He makes a mental note to check calendars for anomalies. That note, though, gets disregarded when Cecil turns his head. He has his glasses on, so it’s harder to see this time, but there’s still the definite flickering of stars in his iris. Carlos grins and surges forward, pressing his lips against the spot on Cecil’s forehead where he knows his eye is. 

“Still not as pretty as your eyes.”

It’s a line that totally, absolutely, should not work. And yet, Cecil blushes and smiles, and suddenly they're kissing. Tattoos come further onto Carlos’s arms, enveloping him in slightly-slithery warmth and there’s a hand in his hair that he isn’t sure is real or not—but this is good. This is great. If Cecil’s eyes were open, Carlos would see shooting stars.


End file.
